"I am an idealistic, naive, passionate, truth-seeking, spiritually motivated artist, unschooled in the science of law and finance." --Wesley Snipes

Tuesday, October 30, 2007


Yesterday afternoon, my excursion to get coffee turned into a mini shopping trip, with stops at the shoe store, and well, oh well, wait. Okay. So I didn't really do any shopping, but SK and I strolled merrily about the neighborhood, finally stopping at Plaza Latina to look at (among other things) tortillas fresh out of the tortilla machine, a goat's head (PL doubles as a Satanic Supplies Emporium), a cow's head, and limes, six for $1. That's a good price on limes. All this looking about but not buying anything instilled in me a taco craving, so I sidled up to the counter and ordered dos tacos de carne asada. I meant to order the small ones (chicos) but was charged for big ones. No matter, thought I, more delicious chopped steak for me. A few moments later I was sitting down to a plate of meat and corn and a bottle of Mexican Pepsi. Can't get any better than that, no?

Actually, yes. It could have gotten a lot better. In fact, I can't think of any lunch experience that wouldn't be better. I'm talking about YOU, Plaza Latina. And your crappy tacos. They certainly looked okay. But the meat. The meat. I have a suggestion--they should change the menu to read carne vieja. This meat was OLD. Seriously. It was old like it had been sitting around all weekend, and then the taco folks came in on Monday and said "Hey! We should serve this old meat! People love old meat!" I think it came from an elderly cow, too. Prepared by old folks. Now, I have nothing against old cows or old people. I'm just sayin'. This stuff was one shade shy of outright rancid. No amount of salsa or Pepsi could disguise this. I managed to eat one taco and threw the other away. I was going to give it to my pet geese but I didn't want to be mean to the fowl.


Speaking of geese, I've got tons of them in my "front yard" (the Willamette River). In my backyard? Dogs and children. Children with their parents and their dogs. And bums. And people who actually come to the park to hug actual trees. Actually. See the post below.

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